


By Any Other Name

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: -slaps fic- this baby can fit so many shakespeare puns in it, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Comedy, Drunkenness, Graduate School, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Pining, References to Shakespeare, drunk yuuri, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: Today, Minako’s holding office hours at a tiny pâtisserie in the trendy part of town, and everything about it screams bookworm aesthetic. Caught between worn bookshelves and well-loved tomes and the thick aroma of coffee, Yuuri has a distinct sense of déjà-vu, even though his waking mind would swear up and down he’s never set foot in this place before.A pastry shop AU written for the Shifty Skater exchange. After all, a pun by any other name would still taste as sweet.





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLostStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostStar/gifts).



It’s so late that it’s practically early, and Yuuri Katsuki is more lost than usual as he stumbles through darkened streets. The sky’s starting to emerge from inky black to slate grey, and in the streets the lights are starting to flicker out.

Nausea overwhelms him for a moment, causing him to lean hard against the side of a building in an attempt to regain equilibrium. This is the worst part of being drunk: the warmth and the buzz is no longer here, and all that’s left is existential dread and cold anxiety. He really should’ve left the party with Phichit and his date for the night, but that Chad fellow had been so _nice_ …

Well, he was a lot less nice afterwards, having passed out from his own tub juice shortly after Yuuri tried to make out with him in his room, and the shame of having a drunken hookup go nowhere had led Yuuri to sneaking out of the apartment in the hopes of getting back to his own before it could be considered a walk of shame. But whatever the fuck was in the tub juice had hit him as soon as he got upright, and now he’s in a completely unfamiliar part of town with a dead phone and a gnawing case of the drunchies.

He vaguely considers trying to find the nearest 24-hour convenience store to find some food and an outlet for his phone, but there’s nothing that looks anything like that in this part of town. Everything seems to be quirky and organic and definitely not convenience-based at all. He must be in the bougie part of town, which means he’s more likely to find doggy water bowls than actual assistance for people wandering around late at night.

Maybe if he sticks around long enough someone will call the cops, and as embarrassing as that might be, at least then he could get a ride back to his and Phichit’s apartment. But just as that thought pops into his head, he hears the rattling of a door opening behind him, and a tinkling noise that should not be as loud as it is.

“Are you alright?” someone asks. Yuuri turns, and almost falls flat on his ass again at the sight of the man standing before him, haloed in the light of the store beyond.

“Hi?” he manages, smiling weakly. “I’m lost.”

“I figured,” says the man with a dazzling smile. He extends a hand. “You must be cold in that. Come on in, I’ll get you something warm.”

Yuuri shuffles in awkwardly, hoping to god the man doesn’t turn out to be, like, Sweeney Todd or something.

“Don’t worry, the meat in Pie-tus Andronicus is sourced from local farmers,” the man says cheerily, and Yuuri realises to his chagrin that he’d been saying his thoughts aloud.

“Doesn’t seem comforting,” he remarks, almost tripping over the rug in his eagerness to get out of the cold. “Considering _Titus Andronicus_ is about a guy who baked his daughter’s rapists into pies.”

“What can I say? It’s Halloween season.” The man beams. “But I wouldn’t feed you one of those right now. You look like you need some coffee and a blanket instead.”

Now that he’s inside, Yuuri has to agree. A mesh top and booty shorts aren’t exactly the best clothing items to wear when stranded outside at four in the morning. He basks in the warmth of the room, which seems to be some sort of bakery-café thing already bursting with the sweetness of baking sugar.

“I’m glad you like it.” The man’s eyes are sparkling, and Yuuri really needs to stop talking in his half-drunk, no-filter mode, it seems. Nonetheless, the man points at a comfortable-looking armchair, and Yuuri flops right in, his aching feet screaming with relief as soon as his ass hits plush velvet. There’s the sound of rummaging in the back, and moments later the man returns with a soft chenille throw, which he tucks around Yuuri’s shoulder. “Let me get you some coffee. What’s your name?”

“Ren,” Yuuri says, still on clubbing autopilot. Handsome as the man is, he’s still a stranger and Yuuri’s never going to see him again. He slumps into the throw, savouring the warmth of the room and the smell of espresso tingling at his nostrils, and promptly loses track of time again.

At some point he is treated to a freshly-baked croissant and a latté, which he scarfs down happily before asking for a place to charge his phone. The man also lets Yuuri borrow his, and Yuuri barely registers the adorable poodle lockscreen before he’s calling Phichit and asking him to call an Uber to get him home.

He also barely notices Phichit showing up in person to collect him, his thanks fluttering and rushed as he focuses on getting Yuuri out to the car in one piece. It’s only when he’s halfway across town, sprawled in the backseat of Phichit’s date’s car and staring up at the ceiling, that he even realises he didn’t get the man’s name.

“Jesus Christ, Yuuri,” says Phichit, when he mentions that. “I thought you were _less_ of a dating disaster when you’re drunk.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yuuri replies. “I just remember he was nice and had nice eyes. But I don’t remember if I got his name.”

“Save the thirst for when you’re sober, darling,” says Phichit’s date, Chris-something.

Yuuri hums in agreement, and closes his eyes.

* * *

It’s a couple weeks later when Yuuri (re)discovers All the World’s a Cake, and this time it’s because of Professor Okukawa’s office hours.

Minako Okukawa is the head of the English department here, in addition to being Yuuri’s advisor and longtime family friend. She’d headed countless symposiums on Early Modern English literature, won countless awards for her studies on the global cultural influence of Shakespeare. Yuuri is actually doing a dissertation on the transformation and codification of archetypes in Shakespeare’s work — or he would be, if he isn’t so busy paralysing himself with the thought that she doesn’t like his ideas at all.

Hence, coming to her office hours.

Today, Minako’s holding them at a tiny pâtisserie in the trendy part of town, and everything about it screams bookworm aesthetic. Caught between worn bookshelves and well-loved tomes and the thick aroma of coffee, Yuuri has a distinct sense of déjà-vu, even though his waking mind would swear up and down he’s never set foot in this place before.

A surly blond teenager takes his order and rings him up with more viciousness than Yuuri thinks he deserves, but he takes it in stride as he sets his number down at the table where Minako is holding court. Some other students — fretting undergrads that Yuuri recognises from the intro to Shakespeare course he TAs — go a little silent when he shows up, their cheeks turning bright pink behind their coffee mugs. Yuuri takes out his laptop.

“You’re doing fine,” says Minako within minutes of scrolling through his document. “You’re on track from what I can see. How’s grading the papers coming along?” She gestures towards the undergrads, who are now desperately avoiding Yuuri’s gaze.

“I’ve only got the late ones and the extensions left,” Yuuri replies.

“Well, one of these ladies wanted to know why you graded her essay the way you did,” Minako remarks. Yuuri bites his lip, looking at the students. The one who had asked seems to be jittering under the table. Or perhaps she’s had one too many cups of coffee.

He’s about to speak when his food arrives. A handsome silver-haired man sets down a latté with a perfect little foam heart in front of him, accompanied by a delicate puff of a cream cornet lightly dusted with sugar and a smidge of heart-shaped jam. “A Midsummer Night’s Cream,” he says with a brilliant smile. “Freshly baked. I hope you enjoy!”

“Isn’t _A Midsummer Night’s Cream_ a porn parody?” Yuuri wonders. “Pretty sure I saw a Kyle Kallgren video about it once.”

“He means thank you,” Minako says, kicking him in the shins under the table. “It’s lovely, Viktor.”

Yuuri flushes. “Yes, uh, thank you. Viktor…”

“Nikiforov,” finishes Minako. Yuuri startles at that, looking up at the man in alarm. Viktor ducks his head immediately, as if trying to hide from the sudden recognition.

“You wrote _Born to Make History_?” he asks, pulling out his copy from the bag. Viktor nods, his cheeks dusted light pink. Yuuri can hear Minako desperately trying not to laugh. “I’ve — I’ve been referencing it a lot in my paper, actually.”

“His thesis, he means,” Minako translates.

“It’s not thesis-length yet,” Yuuri rejoins, his own face feeling as flushed as Viktor’s looks. He gulps at his latté in an attempt to buy himself some time. Viktor hasn’t left, so clearly he’s intrigued. “It’s just… it’s just about the impact of Shakespearean archetypes. But I found your discussion on how Shakespeare eclipsed his peers in the English literary canon fascinating.”

“He reads much easier than Marlowe,” Viktor says, shrugging. “Which makes the ‘Shakespeare is written by Marlowe’ theories even more ridiculous, even if you ignore that Marlowe died well before most of Shakespeare’s works were even written.”

“I think most authorship tin-hatters believe that it’s the Earl of Oxford more than Marlowe,” Yuuri points out. “Which says a lot about their belief that only rich men can write great literature.”

Minako clears her throat at that moment. “Hate to break up the party, boys, but Yuuri does have some students with questions he needs to answer,” he says.

“We’ll talk later,” Viktor promises. “Enjoy your cream.” He winks, and Yuuri flushes one shade darker before turning back to his students.

Somehow, the promise of talking to Viktor again lessens the knot in his stomach about his thesis.

* * *

Viktor keeps his promise. After the students and Minako all leave, and Yuuri is pecking out words at his laptop, Viktor slides into Minako’s seat at the table with another pastry on a dish. This one looks like a misshapen golden lump, glazed over and sprinkled with powdered sugar.

“I’m trying out a new cruller recipe,” Viktor explains when Yuuri raises an eyebrow at it. “I thought you could help me out — I’m trying to figure out where I’m going wrong, but if I have to eat this again my tastebuds might go on strike.”

Yuuri laughs, in spite of himself. “Doesn’t look like a cruller,” he points out as he sniffs the pastry.

“I’m not sure,” admits Viktor. “Yurio said it looked like a golden turd, which is not gonna appeal to the fine sensibilities of this neighbourhood.”

Yuuri snorts. “Yeah, no.” He takes a bite, eyes lighting up at how the pastry melts in his mouth. “Oh, wow.” Viktor arches an eyebrow, as if urging him to offer more feedback. Yuuri chews hard to clear his mouth. “It’s really good. Doesn’t look like much at first but it’s _really good_.”

Viktor preens a little, if Yuuri’s reading his posture right. “I’m gonna tweak the outsides a little; I think I didn’t lay it out right before it went in.”

“You bake all of these yourself?” Yuuri asks, gesturing to the display case full of pastries and cakes. Viktor nods. “How early do you have to get up for that?”

“I get some help,” Viktor says. He swings his legs over the arm of the chair, like some sort of debonair rake disrespecting his lady’s furniture. “Yurio’s a grump, but he’s more of a morning person than he lets on.”

Yuuri doesn’t know who Yurio is, but he suspects it’s the blond teenager giving them the evil eye from behind the counter. He takes another bite of the cruller to stave off having to give any comments about Yurio.

“I noticed there’s a theme to the pastries and drinks here,” he says after a moment, gesturing towards the menu. “Pride and Breadjudice, Jane Eclair, Les Millefuellerables?”

“The puns drive Yurio mad,” says Viktor, waving an airy hand. “Which is why I love them.”

“What’re you going to name this, then?” Yuuri wonders, waggling the cruller in his hands.

Viktor purses his lips. “Crullioanus?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s going to be any better than ‘golden turd’,” he points out, earning him a sharp laugh from the teen.

“I told you it’s a stupid name!” Yurio calls. “It just points out that doughnuts have anuses.”

“I don’t see you trying any better!” Viktor shouts back, before smiling brightly at Yuuri. “I’m going for a bit of a Shakespeare theme these days, so I could use your help with that, too. Since, you know, you’re writing a thesis about him.”

Yuuri’s throat closes briefly at the thought that Viktor Nikiforov would ever want his help. Granted, his wilder fantasies had involved being Viktor’s research assistant or something, spending days sifting through old archives with him in the pursuit of his next big idea, but this is good, too. This is just as sweet. “Sure,” he manages. “Why Shakespeare, though?”

“He met a guy,” Yurio says loudly. “Some lost puppy stumbled into his shop drunk off his ass and talked about Shakespeare for like a good half hour before he got picked up. This idiot, of course, thinks that he’s met his soulmate.”

“He’s not my _soulmate_ ,” scoffs Viktor. “He was just — I wanted to see him again. Maybe once he sobered up, so it wouldn’t be so creepy —”

“God, there he goes again,” grumbles Yurio. “Next thing he’ll tell you Ren had the nicest eyes and the perkiest ass or whatever gag-worthy thing he’ll think up next.”

“Ren?” echoes Yuuri, frowning. Somehow, the knots in his stomach have returned. “Who’s Ren?”

“The lost puppy,” Yurio says, rolling his eyes. “ _Ooh, Ren, by the name of love, I love your hair, and your eyes, and your_ —”

“Shut up!” hisses Viktor, his cheeks bright crimson. “I just — I’m not that creepy, I swear.”

“ _Ren and Vitya, sitting in a tree_ —”

“Don’t you have boxes to inventory?” Viktor calls. Yurio sticks out his tongue at him, but complies all the same. Yuuri laughs as soon as the door to the kitchen swings closed.

“So, I’m guessing no luck with finding Ren?” he ventures. Viktor nods, pouting.

“I thought, well, maybe if I had some Shakespeare-themed stuff he’d come back. But maybe I just got him for that weekend only.”

“Maybe,” muses Yuuri. “Maybe he’s at another school entirely.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And he hasn’t shown up again because he’s terrified of showing his face in here again after being a drunken idiot in front of you.”

“Possibly.” Viktor nods, though Yuuri suspects he doesn’t really buy the story. “If you do run into him, though — I mean, he looks a lot like you and he studies in your field — let him know I’ll treat him to dinner? I just — I thought he thought Pietus Andronicus was terribly funny.”

“More like terribly bad, considering it’s for a meat pie,” Yuuri says. “That’s at least Cards Against Humanity levels of bad.”

Viktor snorts. “It was a long shot,” he admits, scrubbing his hand through his hair, and Yuuri nearly chokes on his cruller as he tries to shove the rest into his mouth.

* * *

All the World’s a Cake becomes a habit soon after that. October veers into November, bringing blustering winds and dancing red leaves, and every time Yuuri drops by the pâtisserie he’s greeted by Viktor’s bright smile and his usual latté within minutes of sitting down in his usual chair.

“Are you sure your graduate stipend covers frequent latté runs?” wonders Phichit one afternoon as they meet at Yuuri’s usual table. Yuuri’s already there, working his way through his latté and his paper. “Because I’m pretty sure you’ve drunk your weight in those things already.”

“Have you tried the Truman Cappuchote?” wonders Yuuri. “I’m thinking of branching out.”

“No, I ordered the Earl Dorian Grey,” replies Phichit. “Now that’s a reference I actually understand.”

“Truman Capote isn’t _that_ obscure.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Moments later, his tea arrives in a little pot with a crocheted cosy, along with a saucer of lemons. “Thanks, Viktor.”

“I got something new,” Viktor says, smiling at Yuuri. Yuuri’s heart skips a beat, especially as Viktor produces another plate, this one bearing a purple éclair on it. “Berryclaires. Is it too clunky?” he adds, looking at Phichit’s quizzical expression.

Phichit wrinkles his nose. “I can’t tell where the Shakespeare pun is supposed to be.”

“It’s Pericles.” Yuuri bites into the pastry. “And berries, and éclair.” He hums, as the taste of the berry jam and frosting swirl around his tongue. “It’s delicious. Thanks!”

“I’m glad you like it,” says Viktor. A group of customers enter just then, causing him to dart back behind the counter. Phichit snorts.

“Only you would like an obscure play reference,” he says. “Whatever happened to good ol’ ‘Ham-let’?”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow. “He has a PhD in English.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t overlook the most obvious Shakespeare food pun out there,” Phichit retorts. “Have you told him yet? About the whole Ren thing?”

Yuuri swallows, looking over at the counter. “No,” he admits. “I don’t really even remember that night. It’s all… blurry.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Phichit sighs as he pours himself a cup of tea. “You’re _planning_ to tell him, right?”

Yuuri suddenly finds the marble tabletop endlessly fascinating. “Maybe?”

Phichit groans. “ _Yuuri_. Look at the man. He’s miserably baking things with Shakespeare puns, trying to get the attention of a man who’s supposed to be your fake name for hookups. You couldn’t write this even if you tried.”

“ _Pretty_ sure it’s been done,” says Yuuri. Phichit shakes his head.

“Throw the guy a bone, okay? If you’re so determined to live in a weird drama, at least fake date him or something.”

“Is it fake dating if the feelings are real?”

Phichit gasps. Yuuri very nearly succumbs to the urge to slam a hand over his friend’s mouth. As it is, he just kicks Phichit under the table. Hard. Phichit laughs.

“Oh my god. You really do —”

“Shut _up_ ,” Yuuri hisses. “You’re going to make me look like a teenager with a crush.”

“Wait, you’re _not_?” wonders Phichit, waggling his eyebrows. “What if I called Viktor over here right now? _Hey, Viktor_ —”

“Yes?” Viktor is at their table before Yuuri even has time to protest. “Is the tea okay?”

“Perfect,” purrs Phichit, grinning like a cat with a canary in its mouth. “Yuuri has something to say.”

“The éclair tastes good,” says Yuuri flatly, glowering at Phichit. “Do you have more of them?”

“He wouldn’t mind cream éclairs, either,” Phichit adds, his grin now approaching Cheshire levels. “He loves swallowing —”

Yuuri swats at his roommate, but nearly falls out of his chair in his efforts. Viktor looks between the two of them, slightly bemused.

“Yuuri’s got something on Ren,” finishes Phichit, all sing-song. Yuuri half-wishes looks could kill.

“I found him,” he agrees, still glaring daggers at Phichit. “And he, uh, would like to go to dinner. What time works best for you?”

Viktor’s eyes light up. “How about Saturday? I know a good bistro near here, so we could meet here and go over together?”

Yuuri nods. “I’ll let him know.” Phichit snorts. “Thanks for the éclair, again.”

“He’ll still eat your cream éclair if you have one!” Phichit adds, causing Yuuri to slam his hand over his friend’s mouth. He licks it, and Yuuri jerks his hand away in disgust.

Viktor smiles brightly. “I think I still have some Janes in the display,” he says, jerking a thumb behind him. “I could get one if you’d —”

“No, I’m good,” Yuuri says hastily, his face reddening. “I have work to do. Don’t you have some rehearsal to be at, Phi?”

“Yeah, probably.” Phichit downs the rest of his tea, before rising to his feet. “Catch you later, Romeo.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but waves his friend out nonetheless.

* * *

It’s a late Friday night when Yuuri looks up from his screen, realises he’s read the same sentence ten times, and decide to pack his stuff and head for All the World’s a Cake once more. Something about the decision feels oddly final, though, like it’s the last mile before a fork in the road.

The shop is quiet for the night when he shows up. A couple students struggling with midterms are gathered in corners and soft chairs, burrowed into hoodies and huddled over mugs of coffee and tea. One girl is absently working through a sugary tart, her eyes glazed over as she scrolls through her laptop. Yuuri can’t help but relate as he makes his way to the counter, where Yurio is glowering at the cakes in the display stand as he counts them.

“Hey,” he says.

“Viktor, Piglet’s here,” Yurio calls without even looking up.

Viktor comes out moments later, silver hair mussed and wine-coloured turtleneck dusted with sugar and flour. Yuuri wants to brush it off for him, but says nothing as he takes out his wallet. “A latté,” he says. “And… the Macaron Karamelzov.”

“Would you want to try Macaronbeth, too?” Viktor asks sweetly, gesturing to the one next to Karamelzov. “Pumpkin spice flavour.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Why not,” he says. Viktor beams, ringing him up as Yurio starts to make the latté.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Viktor admits as soon as the drink and pastries are set in front of Yuuri at his usual table. “I missed you the last couple of days.”

“Midterms,” sighs Yuuri as he stretches out in his seat before taking out his laptop. “I’ve graded way too many papers.”

“And still you’re grinding along,” Viktor notes, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Have you heard from Ren?”

“What?” Yuuri blinks, and then he remembers. “Oh, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” he wonders, as if he hadn’t set a reminder on his phone about it last week. “Yeah, he’s… he’s good.”

“You could make it easier on yourself if you gave him my number,” Viktor points out, taking a napkin and Yuuri’s pen and starting to scrawl. Yuuri wants to refute that, but he bites his tongue. “There.”

Yuuri takes the napkin with trembling hands. Viktor’s fingers are warm and slim, and Yuuri’s traitorous mind wonders what it’d feel like to have them running through his hair, across his skin. The smell of sugar seems to linger even on the napkin as he tucks it into his satchel. “Thanks,” he manages, hunching over his latté. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“You’re the best,” says Viktor, but Yuuri feels anything but as he bites into the Macaronbeth. The pumpkin spice flavour jumps out at him in bright autumnal sweetness. “Do you like that?”

Yuuri nods. The guilt bites through the sweet. Tomorrow, all of this will fade. What will Viktor say when he realises there never was a Ren — there was just Yuuri, stumbling blindly through the city like the drunken idiot he had been? Had Rosalind ever wondered this before she transformed back from Ganymede?

“Are you nervous?” he ventures. “About tomorrow,” he adds. “What if Ren’s not the person you were expecting? I mean, he was drunk when you met him.”

“Isn’t that always the case?” Viktor wonders. “First impressions aren’t always the best impressions.”

Yuuri snorts. “Yeah, like Crullioanus,” he mutters. Viktor laughs at that, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

“I am nervous, though,” he admits after a moment. “It’s been so long since our meeting, but I swear I keep seeing him all the time, everywhere. If nothing else, tomorrow I’ll get closure on that. Figure out if it’s worth pursuing him further.”

“Are you having doubts?” asks Yuuri. Viktor shrugs.

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, looking at Yuuri with startling intensity. Had his eyes always been so blue? Did the light of the shop always cast his face in such a soft golden glow? “Do you think he’d like me?”

 _With all of his heart_ , Yuuri wants to say, but instead he smiles and asks, “who wouldn’t?”

* * *

And then it’s Saturday.

Yuuri spends most of the morning with a persistent static buzz in his head that he can’t seem to shake. Nothing works on it, not even a foray onto Netflix or a jog around the apartment complex. As the hours crawl by and the sun creeps towards the horizon, Yuuri finds himself wanting more and more to cancel everything, uproot his life, and move to a far off island somewhere where he won’t have to interact with another human for the rest of his life.

“You’d starve,” Phichit points out, and Yuuri looks up from the couch cushions to realise he’d complained out loud again. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about wilderness survival.”

“I’ll have robots serving me,” says Yuuri.

“Right, because that worked _so_ well for Oscar Issac,” Phichit says drily.

“I wouldn’t mistreat them,” Yuuri protests. Phichit rolls his eyes.

“Which one of us tried to tape a knife to a roomba when they were drunk?” he wonders, earning himself a cushion to his face for his troubles. “I can’t believe your stupid drunk streak is finally paying off, though.”

“Fuck off,” mutters Yuuri, crossing the room to grab a bottle of wine from the fridge. Phichit hops along after him, snatching the bottle away from him before he can open it.

“We’re not pregaming for your date. Drinking got you into this. It’s not getting you out.”

Yuuri flops back onto the couch. “Viktor wants a party boy from the club,” he points out. “How is he going to react when he finds out it’s just me without my glasses?”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, but considering he gives you free pastries named after Shakespeare plays, I think he’s going to be just fine.” He pauses. “Besides, it’s still 11AM. You really want to day drink seven hours before your date?”

Yuuri groans, covering his eyes with the pillow. “I’m going to sleep,” he mutters. Phichit clucks his tongue.

“Okay, I’ll be working on my lines in my room. Very quietly. Practicing my stage whisper,” he says, and Yuuri hears his footsteps recede before he closes his eyes.

He might have actually fallen asleep at some point, because all too soon it’s time to get up and get ready for dinner. Phichit helps him pick out his outfit, even lending him a snappy pair of Oxfords to top off his look. Yuuri sighs, running his fingers through his gelled-back hair, and wishes he could vanish between the floorboards already.

“Break a leg,” says Phichit cheerily as he practically shoves Yuuri into the hallway and closes the door before Yuuri gets cold feet. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri resigns himself to his fate.

“I’m sorry,” he announces, the instant he steps into the pâtisserie. Behind the counter, Yurio raises an eyebrow.

“You know what? I’m not that surprised,” the teenager says, before heading out the back door hollering for Viktor.

And then the man is there, eyes sparkling and smartly dressed. He stops at the sight of Yuuri, startled, before his shoulders relax and he smiles, crossing the shop towards him. The scent of sugar and warmth seems to swirl all around him. Yuuri’s mouth goes dry.

“Ren, I’m presuming?” Viktor teases as he takes Yuuri’s hand. “I had my suspicions.”

“What, that there couldn’t be two Japanese men in the same town writing a thesis about Shakespeare?” wonders Yuuri.

“Something like that,” agrees Viktor. “But mostly your eyes. I could compare them to a summer’s day, but I think your eyes are much nicer than that.”

Behind Viktor there’s a distinct gagging noise. Yuuri’s cheeks flare.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For, you know, not telling you sooner. I sometimes use that name when I’m out, you know, to ward off strangers, but —”

“We’re not strangers anymore,” Viktor points out. “In fact, I remember you mentioning you’ve read my book. That’s pretty intimate, if you ask me.”

The way he says that word sends shivers up Yuuri’s spine. “I guess,” he mumbles, squeezing Viktor’s fingers. “So, dinner?”

“Oh!” Viktor blinks, as if trying to come back to Earth. “Just one thing, before we go.” He nods at Yurio, who groans and takes out something from the display stand. A religieuse choux pastry teeters delicately on the plate that Viktor now presses into Yuuri’s hands, garnished with cream and chocolate. Yuuri gasps.

“What… what pun do you have for me this time?” he manages after a moment. Viktor laughs.

“It’s Beatrice,” he says. “Or, as I call it, Much Achoux About Nothing.”

Yuuri isn’t sure whether to laugh or to groan, so instead he takes the pastry and bites into it, getting chocolate and cream everywhere. “You’re going to spoil my appetite for dinner.”

“I wanted to get dessert out of the way,” replies Viktor innocently. “I had other things in mind. Maybe coffee again? But upstairs this time.”

Yuuri nearly chokes on his next bite. Valiantly, he manages to swallow down the rest of the pastry. “Phichit’s right, though, I do like your cream pastries,” he says, grinning as Viktor’s ears flush bright pink. “There, now we look the same.”

“Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably,” declares Viktor grandly, before gesturing to the door. “Dinner?”

Yuuri smiles. “I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quick and dirty guide to literary references in the fic:
> 
> Pie-tus Andronicus: Ref to Titus Andronicus, infamous for the climactic scene where the titular character bakes his daughter's rapists into pies... and then serves them to their mother. Some productions have been so gory that people actually faint from the shock.
> 
> All the World's a Cake: Ref to the All the World's a Stage monologue from As You Like It.
> 
> Midsummer Night's Cream: really a porn parody of A Midsummer Night's Dream. [Reviewed by Kyle Kallgren as part of his Shakespeare Month videos.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Vq079NY3_4)
> 
> Authorship tin-hatters: The Authorship Question, which is the theory that someone who wasn't Shakespeare wrote his plays, is a perennial annoyance in Shakespeare studies. Popular candidates are Kit Marlowe and Edward DeVere, the Earl of Oxford. Notable subscribers to these theories include Derek Jacobi. ~~Shakespeare wrote them get over it~~. 
> 
> Crullioanus: Ref to Coriolanus, arguably one of the most homoerotic of Shakespeare's plays (which says a lot tbh)
> 
> Berryclaires: Ref to Pericles, Prince of Tyre. A very obscure play that is at least half written by Shakespeare.
> 
> Pride and Breadjudice, Jane Eclair, Les Millefeuillerables, Truman Cappuchote, Earl Dorian Gray, Macaron Karamelzov: Refs to Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Les Miserables, Truman Capote, Dorian Gray, and The Brothers Karamazov. 
> 
> Macaronbeth: Ref to Macbeth.
> 
> Robot servants and Oscar Issac: Ref to Ex Machina.
> 
> Much Achoux About Nothing: Ref to Much Ado About Nothing. 
> 
> The actual plot of the fic where Yuuri gives a fake name, tries to set Viktor up with the fake name, and then gives up and reveals it was just himself all along, is a slight variation on the Rosalind-Orlando plot in As You Like It. The title of the fic is taken from Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> ...listen I didn't spend a year in Shakespeare fandom for nothing ok
> 
> [Yell about Viktuuri with me!](https://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com)


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